


draw the lines to cross them

by Izzerslololol



Series: don't waste time [3]
Category: Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Because of Reasons, Crack Treated Seriously, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-06
Updated: 2017-05-06
Packaged: 2018-10-28 16:06:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10834665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzerslololol/pseuds/Izzerslololol
Summary: Snapshots in something of a coherent timeline. A gradual revelation, collected from then and now. Also known as: Mereel has feelings and is osik at sorting them.





	1. he fell in love with himself at the first sight

**Author's Note:**

> These were all part of a set of 10 prompts. Otherwise I would've put them in one "chapter" ... but, alas, the prompts themselves (in each chapter title) are fairly significant to leave it this way.
> 
> I'm repeating myself, so if you read the first in this series it's the same pseudo-disclaimer.
> 
> This ship, borne out of far too many late nights and extensive interactions between two writers with two characters who barely ever interacted on-screen in text, has enough drabbles and stand-alones to, I think, deserve its own tag. I know, I know. Mereel and Boss? Really?
> 
> But, for whatever reason, it works ... or works well enough to share these drabbles. Most of them are blink-and-miss moments, but hell, that's part of the fun, right?
> 
> Most of these are written from prompts. Prompts will be in the chapter titles, I suppose.
> 
> One day I'll properly backdate all of my drabbles. Today is not that day.

When a fight failed to break out between Sergeants Vau and Skirata, Mereel deduced Boss had failed to mention his intrusion during the sniper test. Good, then, because as much as Mereel delighted in the chest pains that showed in the veins of Vau’s face, the distress that lined Kal’s eyes deeper every year fell short of acceptable casualty.

He wanted to say it was just for fun and games. That there was, in truth, nothing more at work in his deliberate tracking of Delta Squad’s successes across Tipoca City.

And, really, no one would look any closer if he did.

That Mereel took _antagonizing_ to a special level of _embarrassing_ —because who didn’t like bizarre items in care packages addressed to them, or odd shout-outs addressed to ‘the man who really likes orange’ from random local radios on whatever planet Delta deployed to—didn’t seem to phase the man in the slightest.

The fighting, though.

The arguments, the sneers, the difference of opinions that devolved to outright fistfights and a broken nose on more than one occasion.

It wouldn’t even occur to Mereel that maybe his _light_ pestering held more depth to them until near the end of the clone wars, on the way back from _frak_ and _nowhere_ , when he closes a medicine cabinet over the sink to patch up the bleeding bridge between his eyes and, in the second it takes for his eyes to adjust, sees someone else in his reflection.


	2. it was a relief that smile wasn’t meant for him

Maybe he’d been thinking too hard about it.

Or maybe not enough.

Another week to ween off the harder cigarras, using the vap to subdue the cravings and simulate the act—and he still used it as an excuse to stand outside in the fading sun and exercise out the cravings.

Enforced leave instead of chilldown, because Nulls and ARCs don’t accept chilldowns _standing down._

“Sad.”

Mereel didn’t jump, though he would, if he hadn’t heard the soft _ding_ of doors to Medical cycling open.

“Cravings.”

And he got the urge to light up for _real_ for all the span of a two seconds. A long two seconds. An entire stretch of bad memories to smother the urge to just _give in_ —and his body _h a t e d_ him, ached in ways he never knew possible, burned and twisted low along his spine and—

Then it passed and he still stood in place, watching the daylight fade.

A sidelong slide of his gaze to catch Boss’ smile—and that jump in his chest misplaced as he realized it … faced in a different direction. He tracked his attention to the approach of the rest of Delta returning from _whatever it was_ —

—and realized maybe, just maybe, it was better this way. A relief, even, as he tucked the vap away and moved on inside without another word.

After all, Mereel had reports to file.


	3. that is my greatest wish

It’s written in the way he grips the towel tight between two hands and wrings it tight to a thin rope.

Five months out from the end of one war and head first into another and there is no peace for Mandalore, but no one really expected that to be the case.

Better to be without—no one wants to get complacent, right?

Even if the gaping hole is left in the space between the stretch of morning caf and lunch, minutes filled with silence and working on a speeder or a ship or a droid or _something_ that requires hands and _no talking._

And sometimes Mereel can’t take it, gets anxious, rubs his hands against his thighs and paces and starts a project or one or four—or completes the one Boss had been working on the night before.

Sometimes he just leaves.

Mereel’s not very good at staying still, putting to words he strangles in the chords of a twisted towel before he drops it in favor of leaving for another two weeks or two months or two years.


	4. my job is to protect you

In the time it takes Mereel to cross the room and interject in a _very direct_ disagreement, he formulates the philosophical question of “When did Delta start to matter?” to himself.

But that’s a fool’s question, he realizes, as the fist grazes past his nose as he ducks under and catches the wrist in his left, right elbow striking the ARC with such force that the _crack_ even makes _him_ wince.

Delta always mattered. Commando squads mattered. **All** his brothers mattered.

Even the ARC he takes down in the brief second that follows the crack and wrenches his arm behind his back. The shoulder pops with a sound that whispers _repurposing_ and Boss’ bloody fists are hauling Mereel off the man.

And then Mereel turns around and in _no uncertain terms_ instructs Boss to _leave the premises_ and don’t be seen or so help him he’ll interfere in every mission Delta’s given between now and the end of the war ( and at that point, no one can ever really tell if there is an end at all ).

Mereel doesn’t talk about the _osik_ he goes through for taking the fall.

Why should he?

It’s just part of his job.


	5. he brought that with him

It’s almost meant as a joke, the way it’s said just shy of a sneer.

Mereel makes note of it, for a quick—or, perhaps, not quick at all—session of re-education to the civilian who think he knows Mekael all too well ( and does it ever occur to him that that’s not Mereel’s name? ) and the hilarious intricacies of navigating complicated political social circles.

And, really, how anyone talk about the walking specimen of manliness that is Boss in _that_ way, was beyond Mereel.

Of course, with the way Boss in formal wear attracted much attention from the crowd, Mereel didn’t worry too hard on his delicate, sensitive ego.

Doubly so when Mereel could easily complete not one but _four_ objectives due to the distraction, and have more than a handful of hours to spare in just _partying it up._


	6. the voice was really deep

Boss’ lips part on the exhale—shuddered out into the stifling heat of the room. Windows open to the night, isolated, with just the sound of rumpled sheets and his voice breaking on each consecutive break on Mereel’s name.

And Mereel, for all his selfish inhibitions, doesn’t allow for room or quarter, holding his hands down and out and to the side as he seeks to hear the progressive echo of his voice pitched down, down, off the curve of tongue around his name—until he forgets how to speak, forgets about whatever it was that made him shut in, shut out, shut away the Null who refused to stay locked outside.


	7. he is not nice, not at all

It’s a kindness, Mereel thinks as he _wrestles_ with the _handle_ to just _break_ through this bit of tough cartilage, to be able to turn off the memories every once in a while and sleep.

The _jerk_ and _muffled screaming_ can get tiresome to remember, every now and again ( ’ _Stay still_   _or I drag this out_ ’ and the drag of his glove across his brow _‘You made your choice and now you get to be an example’_ ) .

Generally, Mereel doesn’t think he asks for much in life. A hot meal, a soft bed, a warm body. Is that really a lot to ask?

Instead of getting shot at ( and occasionally suffering betrayals, and how much does loyalty cost these days, exactly?

A literal arm and a leg.

Mereel laughs at his own jokes. )

And civvies don’t quite get it, when Mereel laughs by himself as he helps an _ad'ika_ onto his shoulders over the words, “I’m not nice.”

But his brothers get it.

Boss always _gets_ it.


	8. everyone hated them

No one ever said it.

Not to their faces.

But they thought it, from time to time

_One day_ , Mereel knew. One day they’d learn what it meant to lose a piece of you, forever, to circumstances beyond their control.

Or maybe within.

All it took, all it would take, was one bad day.

But Delta continued to move about as if they were the greatest—and the fact was, _they were_ —because they were the only squad, the _only_ squad, to stay intact from decant to finish.

And in a way, it was still true.

Because they lost one man right after the finish line.

But he could see it, even in the years after, when they pieced together what was left with what was found in the jungle. It still haunted Boss in ways he didn’t talk about. In the long nights when it was clear he couldn’t sleep, and complained about Mereel comming him at _awful hours_ —yet never made a move to hang up, despite the Null being entirely prepared to hand over the excuses and the platitudes to stay on the line until the sun came up over the ex-sergeant’s side of Mandalore.

Mereel never broached the subject. He had his own things he carried without complaint.

Well. Some complaint, expressed in sleepless nights. In drinks too heavy, smokes too strong, risks too high.

Then again, that made him the best man furthest from judge.

And, after a while, it started to be Boss who made the leap to press his name and stretch the gap across the stars on tenuous, unstable, but secure frequencies. After a while, Mereel didn’t need to keep fishing for little hints on the state of Boss’ mind—though he’d never admit that that was what those bizarre little half-mocking messages were really for.


	9. they couldn't get away with it

It was a lot easier the first time around.

When people expected Mereel to be _away_ for long spans of time, to the far reaches of _manda_ knows where, with nothing but the hope that he returns safe-and-sound _eventually._

When Mereel didn’t owe it to anyone to stick around, to build a foundation, to be any kind of presence that needed to even _grace_ an attempt at reaching the same general space of stable.

Sitting still brought peace, but setting up for planting roots brought an anxiety that sent him breaching atmo and running where no one could catch up.

But after a while, even he got tired of running.

And though Boss saw in him a man he _could_ be, well.

He didn’t want to entertain that idea just yet.


	10. they told us not to

If there was anything Mereel could be certain of, it was the fact that his conceptualization of acceptable levels of affection far exceeded what was considered _normal._

The word he struggled for— _urges_ —described in great detail the impulses he held even around those he did not find particularly attractive.

Sometimes, his affection stretched far beyond the realm of friendly.

At a young age, he learned not to show this level of affection—towards his brothers in particular, and it was his _brothers_ in _particular_ where it echoed just under the line of containable—around the training sergeants, and any other _aruettise,_ if only in the _strictest_ sense of clone brotherhood.

Because, really, what made Mereel _Mereel_ also made him _deviant,_ and _disgusting,_ and most importantly— _disturbed._

And he’d love it if maybe he could never have to see his _buir’s_ eyes look upon him with a profound confusion and fear when greeted upon the _possibility_ that maybe, just maybe, Mereel kissed more than girls outside.

Of course, regardless of the reaction, the line was clear.

He just chose, relatively often, and relatively easily, to overstep.

That more than a _small_ part delighted _greatly_ in the instances he chose to take with Boss … well.

That was his business.


End file.
